


private depth

by plotdevice



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27914248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plotdevice/pseuds/plotdevice
Summary: It was hard to read Chenle anyway. He always just did what he wanted.
Relationships: Qian Kun/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 20
Kudos: 85





	private depth

"Here or at home?" 

"Hm?" Kun said. He hadn't been listening. They were at his favourite 7-Eleven, a fancy one with a lot of clean seating and a secluded little area off in the back, presumably for people who wanted to drink with discretion. Chenle said again, louder,

"Here or at home?" 

"Oh--I don't know. Shouldn't I take you home?" 

"I meant my home. I wanted you to stay over. I told Mama you were staying over and that you would be there in the morning." 

"I have--" _practice_ , he wanted to say. Rehearsals. But it didn't matter. It was late enough already. And hearing it like that-- _I wanted you to stay over_ \--felt good, better than he wanted to admit. "Actually, sure." 

In the car on the way there they sat close together in the back as they always did. Chenle was quiet, flicking through his phone; the city lights refracted through the window and lit him up in quick flashes of neon and orange, the length of his hair casting dramatic shadows over his mask. 

"Hey," Kun said.

"Mm?" He didn't look up.

"Back at the store... the girl..." For some reason, he'd started off in Korean. He said it again in Mandarin. 

"Yeah?" Still no reaction.

"I think she liked you."

That got a reaction: a raised eyebrow, illuminated by the gentle blue glow of the phone screen. "Lots of girls like me." An implied _duh_ behind it.

"Yeah, but--" He didn't know how to describe it. What had it been, anyway, that so struck him? The shy way she tucked her hair behind her ear, hiding a smile behind her hand out of habit even though the mask was covering her face. But it wasn't that. If he thought about it, it hadn't been her at all; he hadn't really been looking at her. He'd been looking at--what? It was like he'd seen Chenle with new eyes, like someone popped a new lens into him and everything had gone from blurry to perfectly defined in a single miraculous instant. Chenle's casual insouciant slouch, his slim jogger-clad legs, even his tousled hair, everything about him bathed in some shitty fluorescent light, made clear by some girl who thought he was cute, and now Kun thought he might be going crazy.

Chenle had gone back to looking at his phone, but without looking he reached a hand out and patted Kun's thigh. "I don't really want--that," he said vaguely. He didn't need to specify what he was talking about. "That's not really--" He paused. Then he locked his phone and looked up, dark eyes meeting with Kun's. "I don't really want that," he repeated.

"Thanks for making that clear," Kun said drily. His dry throat clicked when he swallowed. Now he thought maybe he should have gone back to the dorm. He wanted to go to bed. He thought: Chenle's eyes were very dark. 

  


* * *

  


It was hard to read Chenle anyway. He always just did what he wanted. If he'd wanted a girl he could probably have started with someone, dating in secret or however it was that people did it these days. It would have been easy for him, the way he made everything look so effortlessly easy. The friendship he struck up so quickly with Wen Junhui, when Kun had struggled to start it for almost six months, or the comments he left on Weibo with no shame when Kun agonised over every character he picked out on his phone keyboard.

"Aren't you spending a lot of time with him lately?" Ten said in the kitchen. 

Kun looked at him in surprise. He'd been chopping carrot and narrowly avoided his own finger in surprise. "Who?" 

"Chenle?" 

"I don't know. Am I?" 

"All I know is that Hendery complained to me that you let Chenle visit your studio but not him or Yangyang." Ten shrugged, but his eyes were sharp. "I thought you said you didn't have a favourite son." 

Kun spluttered. "They're not--he's not--my _son_. Don't even think about calling him that. He's just more polite and better house-trained, so I'm not worried he'll spill something all over the equipment." He returned to the carrot with a little more force than called for.

The conversation stuck with him through and after dinner. Were they spending too much time together? But he felt comfortable with Chenle lately, maybe more than anyone else. And it wasn't him who initiated; for all his friendships, with Junhui or Minghao or anyone in the group, for all his worldwide connections, Chenle made the time for _him_. To come see him and talk to him, to get his advice or watch him produce. He liked spending lazy nights with Kun in the studio, providing demo vocals for tracks both of them knew would never go anywhere. It was probably fine. It was all fine.

When a WeChat notification popped up on his phone asking if he wanted to go to the 7-Eleven again, he said yes. Again they traversed the brightly lit aisles, with their clean, shiny tile floors, stood for too long in front of the food, debating on whether they wanted bulgogi or tuna kimbap, whether it was a good idea to get honey butter chips when Kun was still on a diet. This time they ate at the tables, smirking at each other over what felt like such a big transgression: to be alone in public without managers, to enjoy themselves in such a decadent manner. 

When they were finished eating, when the trash was cleared up and thrown away, when they were standing outside in the heat of Seoul's summer nights, waiting just a moment before beginning their eventual walk back to the dorm, from where the manager said he'd give Chenle a ride home, Kun said, "Thanks for asking me." Then he paused a moment. "Why did you ask me?" 

Chenle's brow furrowed. "Because I wanted to?" The response was pitched up not like a question but like it was obvious.

It felt disappointing for a reason he couldn't name, but he smiled anyway. It wasn't wrong; it couldn't have been. He ruffled Chenle's hair and grabbed the back of his neck for good measure before Chenle slung an arm around his waist. It was muggy, but they walked back to the dorm that way, and Kun felt the heat of Chenle's body cut through the hazy night air.

  


* * *

  


"Chenle's here," Hendery said, rapping at the door. 

Kun, who was lying on his bed clad only in joggers, looked up in alarm. "What? Huh?" But before he could say anything, Chenle was there, slipping through the doorway and sitting on Yangyang's bottom bunk. "You shouldn't sit there," Kun said without thinking; Yangyang always complained when other people sat on his bed. 

"Okay," Chenle said simply. He walked across the room and sat on Kun's bed instead, just a few inches from him: a mistake on Kun's part.

"Any reason you're here?" 

"You're not happy to see me?" Chenle's gaze was sharp today. 

"I'm always happy to see my didi," he said. He tried smiling, but it felt wrong. "I'm just tired from today, I guess."

"Yeah." A now familiar smirk appeared on Chenle's face. "Ten-hyung sent me some pictures of the costumes." Even in Mandarin, he referred to Ten as _hyung_. "He thought I'd want to see." 

"He--did? That..." The conversation in the kitchen reappeared in Kun's mind. It was his own fault; he should have known that Ten always knew more than he thought. 

"So what? You looked hot." Chenle's gaze slid over him and Kun, who had been very aware this entire time that he was without a shirt and that Chenle was only a few inches from him, felt sweat spring to his palms.

"You came here to tell me that?" 

Chenle looked at him. "Sure."

"Really?" 

Chenle shook his head. He was smiling, not a real smile but something that played on his lips amusedly. It made Kun nervous. When Chenle leaned forward, he tried to lean back, but his head was already resting against the headboard. Chenle stopped. He raised his eyebrows.

"Really?" Kun said again. More like croaked. His throat was bone dry. "But that's--" He faltered and tried again. "You don't even--need me." 

Chenle stared back at him. He was impossible to read at the best of times but especially now. The planes of his face gave nothing away. "No," he said simply, and Kun felt a wave of nausea so intense it almost made him stagger back, a wave of disappointment that knocked him off his feet with its force.

"So, that's--" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Chenle said, over him, their words overlapping,

"But I want you. Isn't that enough?"

**Author's Note:**

> > what i want  
> from you can  
> you give? what  
> i give to  
> you do you  
> want? hey? hey?  
> 
> 
> \--Sonia Sanchez, "Sonku [what i want]"


End file.
